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Why I Stopped Buying Drugs

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So something really fucking terrifying happened to me a little less than a week ago. I’ve told a couple friends, and they don’t believe a word of it. With my friends and the type of sense of humor I have, I can’t blame them. But I’ve been a r/nosleep reader for a while, and I knew you guys would believe me.

Alright, full disclosure (and no big surprise by the title), I smoke a lot of pot. I live in a state where that’s pretty frowned upon, legally speaking. Because of that, I’ve had to go to some pretty seedy places and deal with some nefarious and overall odd individuals. I’ve been to every type of ghetto, parking lot, or home, and come into contact with every type of dealer, pusher, user. And I don’t even do hard drugs! But where you find one drug, you will find many. Drug dealers are generally pretty sleazy and neurotic people. They have the weirdest knowledge base (that they just love to share), they tend to have the most bohemian clothing styles, and they tend to smell somewhere between “different” and “fucking awful”. It’s not a cast of people I like to deal with, but ‘tis the nature of the beast. What I’m trying to say here, is that I’ve gotten used to giving strange motherfuckers money for marijuana. And while I don’t like doing it, I do like smoking weed, so I’ve learned to become unfazed by it. That has since changed.

It started about two or three weeks ago. I was at a party with a few friends of mine and a ton of hip and cool twenty-somethings, so plenty of booze and drugs to go around. I was in a group of about six or so people, my friends Matt and Kevin included. We were all passing around a couple joints. One was mine, and I had no idea where the other had come from. But that’s a good party. Getting high on some never ending mystery supply of green. My buddy Kevin pulled out a massive blunt and sparked it up. He took a long drag and passed it to me. I tried to match his hit, and it went down surprisingly easy. I passed it to Matt and exhaled a dense white cloud.

“Goddamn, that tastes good.” I said as I could already feel it start to elevate my high.

“Yeah, dude. Best Mr. Nice Guy I’ve ever had. And pretty cheap, too. Only $40 for an eighth.” he said with a smug grin.

“Holy shit, that’s pretty good. Who are you getting it through?” I asked, knowing most of Kevin’s connects already. I was about to be pissed if I wasn’t getting the same price from one of our mutual dealers.

“This new guy, Murphy. He’s weird as fuck, but he sells some good bud.” Kevin said, the blunt getting rotated back into his hands. “I met him up at the cliff. He was just sitting there, smoking this amazing stuff. He offered to share and while we smoked, he said he sold weed and gave me his number.” The cliff is a spot in a local park that Kevin and I often hike up to and smoke in nature and solitude. It’s not the easiest climb, so it’s pretty rare that you’ll run into much more than deer or squirrels.

“Man, that is weird. But pretty cool.” I said as Kevin hit the blunt and passed it again to me.

“I can give you his number. He said if he knew anybody else who was looking to pass it on.” Kevin remarked as he started to text me the number.

I was pretty stoked, but at the time, I had plenty of green of my own left. I had no need to go on the awkward and paranoia inducing adventure of meeting a new drug dealer. I stored the number in my phone and went on with my life, soon forgetting about Murphy.

But after about a week, wouldn’t you know, I tragically lost all of my chronic in a series of small fires. It happens. So, I scrolled through my phonebook and stopped on Murphy. I considered hitting call for a while. There’s always a level of hesitation when it comes to calling someone you’ve never spoken to before. Especially if that person does illegal shit for a living. But, I couldn’t stop thinking about that amazing high and that very reasonable price, so I finally hit the little green button and listened nervously.

Four rings, a click, then a dial tone. "No Mr. Nice Guy for me, I guess," ran through my mind. I started to scroll to one of my regular guys when the screen flashed a big grey silhouette with a smiley face and an unknown number. It kind of startled me at first, but I settled down and answered the call.

“Hello?” I asked slowly.

“Is this Bruce?” he spoke in raspy voice, that was deep but a little forced. I was a little wigged out that he knew my name. My number’s unlisted.

“… Yeah, how do you know that?” I asked.

“Kevin gave me your number, said you might be calling. What’s up?” He was chill but got to the point. Fucking Kevin didn’t tell me he gave the guy my number.

“Oh, cool. I was wondering if I could hit you up, if you still have any Mr. Nice Guy?” I said as my voice got low. Like someone was bugging my apartment.

“Uh, yeah, I got you covered. You know where that barbeque place on Main and West is?” He asked.

“Yeah, I don’t live too far from it.” I answered back.

“Cool, bro. Meet me in the parking lot behind that place in a half hour.” He said, then just hung up. Kind of fucking rude, I thought. But there’s always a sense of elation when you know you’re about to get some good weed, and I didn’t mind the rudeness.

I spent about fifteen minutes smoking the last bowl’s worth of the green I had. Always helps to calm the nerves before I go do a deal. I finished the bowl, put my shoes on, got in the car, and headed out. It took me just over ten minutes to make it there, and I pulled around the place and parked in the back. There were hardly any cars there, and only one lamppost that was at the other end of the lot. I sat there a good fifteen minutes, just scanning the dark parking lot and apartment complex nearby.

I was just starting to think about how fucking conspicuous I looked trying to be the opposite. Then I heard a loud knock on the passenger window. I spun to the right and there was a homeless looking motherfucker staring at me through the window. He had a big grin full of crooked and rotting teeth. His hair was curly and long, frizzed out in a big dirty “jew-fro” (and from someone who’s both Jewish and has a “jew-fro”, I would know). He had thick framed hipster glasses and an old army jacket. He didn’t look like the military type. I couldn’t tell if he was twenty, or forty, but he was definitely worn out. Against all my better fucking judgment, I rolled down the window. I could immediately smell the stench of cheap cigarettes.

“Bruce?” He asked in that gritty, deep, kind-of-fake-sounding voice.

I nodded and in another lapse of common sense, I unlocked the door. Murphy got in the passenger seat and the level of stench multiplied.

“Sorry I’m late, bro. Nice to meet you.” He said as he offered his hand. Really didn’t want to do this part, but that’s not how you treat a stranger in your car. I shook the hand, and to my goddamn chagrin, it was ice cold and damp. I did my best not to show the disgust in my face. Then, he pulled a nice big joint from his coat pocket and a lighter. “Wanna smoke a quick J?”

Far be it from me to turn down free drugs, “For sure.”

He lit up and I took a quick look around. “Chill out.” He said, holding in the hit. “I smoke here all the time. Nobody comes back this way… except the people I deal to.” He laughed to himself and let out a thick haze of smoke.

He passed the neatly rolled fatty to me, and it smelled delicious. It almost killed his stench. Almost. I took a hit that was bigger than I should’ve. It glided down smooth and tasted like blueberries. I held it a while, and when I exhaled, I could feel the blood rush to my face and eyes. I passed the J back to Murphy. He took a hit and started hitting all the familiar drug dealer notes.

“Bet you’ve never had green that tasty, huh?” He asked me, holding his breath again. The classic self-assured boasting of his own stock. I shook my head with a satisfied smile.

“That’s right! I’m the only guy in the state with the hookup on that shit.” He exhaled. But of course, the exclusive supply.

“I’ve had to cut a bitch’s eyes out for shit half that good.” He chuckled in a sincere wheeze as he handed the joint back. That’s not exactly a familiar line.

I decided to just hesitantly join in the laughter and continue hitting the J. A few more puffs and some more uncomfortable conversation go by, and the joint is smoked to its last glorious greenage.

“How much you gonna want?” He asks, right back to business.

“An eighth.” I answer plainly.

“Cool. It’s gonna be forty. Uhh, we gotta pick it up. Just a few miles away.” He says as I just start to realize he’s a bit of a mouth-breather.

That’s not something I wanted to hear. The price was great, but I hate having to drive a drug dealer to another drug dealer. Why the fuck not? I thought. He was cool enough to smoke me out a heavenly blunt. I can drive a few miles with the weirdo for an eighth of that kind of green.

We headed out of the parking lot, and Murphy started directing through neighborhoods and down back roads. We were in an old part of town that’s pretty much out in the country. Most of the people here have acres of land and you have to watch out for deer on the road. We were heading down a long, dark stretch of an old highway when things started to get freaky.

“You got a wife or a girlfriend, Bruce?” Murphy asked, scratching his hair as dandruff fell onto my car seat.

“A girlfriend, yeah.” I answered, pretending not to notice the white flakes glimmering in the passing street lights.

“Tied down by the pussy.” He sneered in that obnoxious, low voice.

I let the comment slide, “That’s not how I see it.”

“Not me, man. I fuck whoever I want, whenever I want.” He started to say it proudly as he inflated his chest, but then he just coughed violently. As he did, the sound started to echo inside my head.

I began to feel the blood start to drain from my skin and I started to get an overwhelming sense of paranoia. I was still incredibly high, but I was no longer floating on the breeze. It was more like I was skating on thin ice. The few lights that we passed by seemed to stretch out even further between each other. When we’d get close, the light would shift through different colors. I started seeing glowing animal eyes in the dark woods to both sides of the road, though most of me realized they weren’t really there. I’d never had any weed hit me like this before, and it was definitely freaking me the fuck out.

“You ok, man? You gotta keep your shit together. You can’t let that bud get the best of you…” His words trailed off as he was bathed in darkness. Just as the next street light came up, he jerked towards me and shouted the end of his sentence. “At all!” In the brief moment the yellow light passed over him, I could swear I saw his teeth broken and jagged and his eyes completely black. I jerked the steering wheel a little (at the time, I though I’d nearly taken us off the road), and I yelled a bit.

Murphy laughed in his raspy voice and said, “Just fucking with you, dude.”

“Yeah… funny.” I said, very sarcastically.

“You can’t get ass hurt about that man. Gotta be tough. Ready to fuck a nigga up!” He said, gritting his teeth. As the light passed again, I could see his teeth and eyes were normal. I sighed in relief. I glanced over again with the next light and saw a knife in his hand. It was a quick flash of light, but it looked like there was blood on the knife. The dark came back, and I was about to shit my pants, I was so afraid. The next street light was half a mile down the road, and up a hill. I had to sit in a pitch black car for thirty seconds with a crazy asshole holding a bloody knife.

“You have to be ready to put the fear of God into a bitch if they try to cross you. Slice they’re fucking Adam’s apple wide open if they try to pull some shit. Some punks tried to rip me off today, take my blade from me, but I showed those little fuckers how to bleed real nice.” He rambled on in a sadistic tone. The bad trip mixed with his crazy fucking rant was making me sweat bullets.

We finally came up on the next street light and the knife was gone, thank God. He was just smiling at me again, with that sinister, yellow and black mouth. Then darkness again.

“You know I’m just fucking with you, right?” He asked from the shadows of the passenger seat.

“Of course, dude. Funny shit.” I tried to say it with humor in my voice.

The next street light came up, and I looked over at him again. He was still smiling at me with that rotted mouth, but he was different. Horrifyingly different. His face and chest were riddled with deep gashes, each one pouring a stream of blood that all flowed into one downward river. His skin was pale and a little translucent, his red and blue veins protruding up. His eyes were gouged out, and only hollow red holes were left, blood and puss streaming out like a flood of tears.

“Glad you think I’m funny, bro.” Murphy said, the blood from his wounds pumping out with each emphasized syllable.

Just as the darkness returned, he started laughing his wheezy laugh in the fake, deep voice. I was in shock. I couldn’t look away, not even bothering to watch the road. I didn’t want to take my eyes off him until the next light. His laugh subsided just as the next light came up. It was normal, still somewhat disgusting and creepy, Murphy. I did not sigh in relief, but I did turn back to watch the road again.

Murphy told me to turn on the next right soon after, and we soon pulled up to a rundown motel next to a gas station and not much else. Murphy told me to wait there for just a couple minutes and he got out and headed around the corner. I waited twenty seconds (I know, because I counted each one), then I put it in reverse and got the fuck out of there. I sped back home and immediately blocked Murphy’s number on my phone. I was painfully sober and didn’t get any sleep that night.

The next day, I called Kevin to complain about the bullshit connect he hooked me up with.

“So, I had a pretty bad experience trying to get some green yesterday.” I said, setting up for a complain-fest. He cut me off like he knew where I was going with it.

“Oh, shit. Dude, I’m sorry, I completely forgot to tell you. I’m guessing you were wondering why Murphy never got in touch with you?” Kevin asked.

I paused for a moment, confused, before, “What?”

“Yeah dude, Murphy was fucking killed.” Kevin said, almost laughing a little.

“What do you mean?” I wasn’t accepting it yet.

“Yeah, crazy shit. Apparently he got jumped for his stash and a couple dudes stabbed him to death with his own knife. I even heard…”

“They cut out his eyes?” I interrupted him, even though I didn’t want to say it.

“Yeah, you already know? That’s just what I heard anyway, sounds like bullshit. He probably just got busted. Sorry you couldn’t get any of that Mr. Nice Guy, but honestly man, just be happy you never met Murphy. He was fucking weird and smelled like shit.” Kevin said with no remorse.

“Later.” Was all I could manage, and I hung up.

I haven’t bought weed since, and as long as I have that phone, I will never unblock that fucking number.

Credited to No_Mo_420 

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